Rants from the Pants

Thursday, 11 November 2010

Effortlessly beautiful. That's how I would describe her. The twinkle in her eye revealed a passion, bigger than life. When I first met her I was a little jealous to be honest. She had mastered the art of truly being one of the boys, without them losing their desire for her. She was the only hot blonde I knew for whom respect was never an issue. A seasonal MVP at the pub quiz table, and not afraid to flex some muscle. The muscle that would come to kill her.

Even though she could have easily been every woman's natural enemy, everyone I know that knew her, loved her. She was one of those people who actually cared about the answer when she asked you a question. She cared about people, period.

The last time I saw her we talked about cupcakes. Fucking happy, stupid, colourful, moronic, delicious, cupcakes. We talked about tumours too, of course. And how good it was to talk again, and how we should do it more. She gave me a little pinch and a smile that said "It's just me, don't feel weird. The long blond hair maybe gone, and there may be some golf ball sized thing in my brain that's trying to kill me, but I'm not letting it get me down."

I'm so sorry the evil golf ball won. I'm sorry for all of her friends and family who'll have to miss her. I'm sorry she didn't get to finish her degree and officially graduate as the kick-ass cinematographer she was, be the star she would undoubtedly have become. I’m sorry she didn’t get to do all the things she wanted and deserved. I’m sorry and I’m pissed. You cannot finish a life by 29. No one can. It’s not fair.

She may not have had a chance to finish, but she never failed. She was a beautiful person, and she had fans. I will always be one of them.

Thursday, 1 July 2010

But first let us speak of the biggest distraction in my life since I learned that boys also suck in a good way, the World Cup. It's like a bloody soap opera this year. It's full of drama, gossip, backstabbing and spectacular failure. And I for one am laughing my head off at all the poncy pillocks who are crying "woe is me" whilst blowing their noses in hundred euro bills.

Take Cristiano Ronaldo for instance. That guy can suck my shingles. I loved how he was tripping over his own feet all over the pitch in search of a free kick, just to be completely ignored by every single referee he crossed. After the Portuguese knock out he was quoted saying "I'm broken, frustrated and unbelievably sad". Well boo fucking hoo dude, maybe you should've tried playing football instead of demanding your teammates to serve up scoring opportunities on a silver platter.

And then of course there's mister Fifa himself Joseph "respect my authoritah" Blatter. That guy must have elephantiasis balls to be able to spew that much self-aggrandizing word poop and still claim to be a servant of fair play. I saw him in an old television interview where he explained his objections to the video referee, saying it was "too complicated", because there would have to be "cables dug in, all around the field". I could see how an intricate technical endeavour like that might be over his leather head, but if you see the technical skill and ability displayed in the new stadiums built by Fifa you know the excuse is laughable. After the French selection acted like a bunch of very spoilt children, and were sent home by South Africa, the shamed ex-coach and resigned chairman of the French Football Association were summoned by French parliament. This fact was ridiculous enough in itself. The World Cup has been keeping me pretty occupied, but even I know it's just a game. And to say the French government has bigger problems would be a massive understatement. But predictably, Blatter got his knickers in a knot and announced that "French parliament had no jurisdiction over the French Football Association". Let's reverse that for a moment shall we? Fifa has no fucking jurisdiction over the French government you narcissistic dimwitted blowhard! And while we're at it, take your corrupt monster of an organisation, go swim in your tainted money and stop ruining football!

Okay, rant over. Now the anxiety for the Dutch game against the Brazillians tomorrow can start. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up, but who knows? Maybe this time the 'lions' will finally take the 'Canaries'. If so. Two words; "Orange Orgy".

As for this clip, I know "the best thing to happen to the internet since free boobies" is a lot to promise, but trust me. The video below is sheer genius and watching it may be the most cathartic ten minutes of your life. I wouldn't recommend watching it at work though, because you might very well end up accidentally cursing your boss into the ground and having to get a shittier job than Jack Abramoff.

Tuesday, 18 May 2010

Look, I don't know what happened okay? Those white supremacist bastards acted alone on this. I even tried to save them some weeks ago by attempting a botanical global shift of sorts, but I failed. Is that why I feel so guilty, because I failed?

Just look at those smug, racist petals looking all healthy and well fed, whilst the poor purple suckers get crushed to death. My dreams of a glorious and harmonious purple and white flower bed, an example for the flower beds of the world if you will, shot all to hell.

I should rip the white ones out and cramp them in a dried out old pot. See how they like it. The purple ones are prettier and more fun anyway. Serves those pale fuckers right for stealing other flora's food. Time to get vengeful up in this concrete jungle...

Tuesday, 30 March 2010

Remember John Sheehan? The retired United States Marine Corps general who claimed that the fall of Srebrenica was caused by the presence of homosexuals in the Dutch army, and that a Dutch general told him as much. He was soon revealed to be a big fat liar of course, and today the newspapers say he finally apologised to his Dutch colleague Henk van den Bremen. The headlines have him eating crow, but I can't say I find a shred of regret in his so called apology.

He sent an email (or more likely, his secretary did) stating his memories of certain discussions that took place 15 years ago were inaccurate. No fucking shit Sherlock! Not to mention the fact that you made up a blatant lie and attached it to a Dutch general's name, used the death of 30.000 innocents for your hate mongering, and to top it all off, blamed an entire genocide on the maybe 15 gays who were stationed at Srebrenica at the time. I think they deserve more than the lackluster gesture you sent van den Bremen, like your evil lying homophobic head on a plate!

I must say I'm really dissapointed in the Obama administration for letting their former generals run their mouths off like that. I understand he's a private citizen now, but he did insult an active military Ally, not to mention a large portion of the democratic electorate. What I would like to see is Hillary taking him by the ear and dragging him to the nearest microphone where he gets to tearfully explain just how silly he was to think that who a person chooses to love is any of his damn business. And how much in debt he is to the thousands of gays who've already fought for his country, suffering in silence. They gave their lives, while the flags from their caskets couldn't even go to those they loved most. I don't care if they have to hold him at gunpoint (or massive black gay man erection point, whatever he finds more scary), that is what needs to happen. It's 2010 for crying out loud. If Ricky Martin can come out of the closet, so can the most heavily armed organisation in the world.

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Did you know that happiness isn't very funny? I'd never thought about it much, but it seems to be the cause of my recent writers block (well that, and the ever present mindnumbing lazyness). It seems that I'm at my most productive when I'm being mysanthropic, taking the piss out of my life and everything that is shit about it. But what to do when something, or actually someone comes into your life, carrying buckets of joy, making it very difficult to get worked up about the little things?

Just weeks ago I was a worried mess, afraid that the evil that is cancer was clawing it's way back into my family. And now my parents are happily and healthily roaming New Zealand, and the biggest thing on my mind is the beautiful soul who bought me a typewriter. Just like that. He got me a real, old fashioned, Remmington typewriter. Because I said I wanted to write more. And now it's sitting there staring at me. A big, orange, gesture of kindness (and perhaps a dare to put my efforts where my mouth is).

Honestly there must be more than a few screws loose with this one, because after just two weeks I brought him home for Christmas to meet my weirdass family, and he still likes me. I spilled coffee all over his mattress, and he still likes me. I ambushed him with my entire hockey team, and was so hungover the next day that I turned green in the shower and had to exchange his embrace for that of the toilet bowl, and he still likes me. And just last weekend, I forced him outside on his balcony, naked, in the snow, and he STILL likes me...

There probably are many ways to make fun of him, of us, but I refuse to do so. Nauseating as we may be at our worst, this past month has been the biggest gift and as long as it may last I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it. Luckily, me, myself and I are still fair game, so feel free to laugh at me for just now falling off my bike and hitting my head (hard) on the ice, whilst on my way to visit a friend who's home sick with a concussion. Double points for irony there Murphy! I'm also still dirt poor, have no clean clothes, just opened a newspaper to discover the world is still in shambles and nope... doesn't work... still happy!

Monday, 14 December 2009

I'll keep this brief, because if this thing turns out to be your doing, you're going to need a head start. I'm fairly confident the lump in my mum's neck isn't going to be cancerous, because let's face it, if it is... Dude! You are SO screwed!

Have you learned nothing from last time? You really don't remember who you're messing with, do you? The woman on the other side of the boxing ring not only has the willpower of 25 Mandelas and the ass-whooping abilities of a 1000 Buffys, but do you see who are behind her? That's right suckah! It's medical science, the complete staff of one of the best oncological institutions in the world, and the love and support of everyone my mother has ever met. Why, you ask? Because she has a huge heart and people actually like her. As opposed to yourself cancer. Nobody likes you. You're ugly and you smell funny. Who's in your corner huh? Oh right, death... Well, I'm pretty sure he won't try to come near my mum anytime soon. He's probably still hurting from the last time she laughed his bony butt out the room.

Yeah so maybe you've won a few battles against people who clearly deserved better, because you're a heinous weasel and you fight dirty. But guess what? She doesn't give a flying fuck! This is the woman who literally pumped her veins full of radioactive fluid just so she could watch you cry. She allowed herself to be gutted like a fish, just so they could take out all the nasty little bits you touched. I've seen her do it! She's completely bonkers and she will eff, your, shit, up! Do you really want that much crazy on your ass again? Don't even try it man, you'll lose! She'll whipe the floor with you (and the walls, and possibly the ceiling. She's very thorough that way...).

You're starting to look a little pale there cancer. You know what, I'll cut you a deal. If you make it so the doctors won't find any of your dirty fingerprints on friday, maybe I can persuade her to let you off the hook. Just this once.That's right, back away now, we're done here. Yeah you'd better run. Be afraid cancer. Be very afraid...

Friday, 11 September 2009

Mea culpa and so on for the lack of posting, I'm sure that you, my loyal readers, were very disappointed. Both of you (and yes that includes your cat). I took a sizable summer break from the interwebs to pretty much work every day, except when I was drinking on boats. Also, I enjoyed a bit of a summer romance, followed by the inevitable gut wrenching break up, when Cupid dipped his wretched dart in battery acid, before ramming it in my eye. I guess I have only myself to blame. If you mess with the youngens, you shouldn't be surprised when they suddenly get bored, call you a doodyhead, and run off to poke some roadkill.

Since I have a party to attend shortly and currently look and smell like Groundskeeper Willy after St. Patricks day, I'd better hit the shower. But I'll leave you with someone who also thinks god and Murphy are dicks, if not the same person...

"Frenchman Micheal Llodra had to forfeit his match against german Tommy Haas today after losing his balance during a rally and crashing into the umpires chair (and the face of a ball girl). Haas wasn't quite ready to leave centre court yet though, so he dedided to treat the audience to a little game with the ball boys and girl."

Well, it looks like I have a new crush. How cute was that!?! (And how much do you love that the only kid with game doesn't have a Y chromosome...)

* Once again for the Dutchies; if you are reading this on my Hyves page, the RSS feed doesn't copy the YouTube clips so you'll have to click through to my blog.

Sunday, 21 June 2009

So I've already turned the spotlight on my own dad today, but there are many fatherly characters out there that speak to the imagination, for better or worse...

Worst dad: Josef Fritzl

You have to be one disgusting human being to win this title, but unfortunately mr. Fritzl is as loathsome as they come. Locking his daughter in the basement for most of her life, using her as a sex slave, and fathering his own grandchildren. Some of whom were kept hidden from the world, and one who didn't even survive life in his hellish Austrian dungeon.

Worst animated dad: Randy Marsh (South Park)

When he's not busy mastrubating, drinking and/or causing mass hysteria, he is still a pretty big jackass, causing his son Stan massive headaches and much embarressment. Granted, Peter Griffin may be even worse. But Family Guy is way less funny and I've kind of had it with them, so they are spared this dubious honour.

Best dad: Jon stewart

Let's face it, the guy is by all accounts pretty much perfect. He's smart, funny and has morals that seem incredibly sane for Hollywood standards. Not to mention that he'd be a very worthy adversary for any teenage smartmouth. Truly a dad to look up to.

Best dad (who isn't a dad) - Stephen Fry

He might be an elderly gay man and therefore an unlikely candidate for fatherhood, but I think mr. Fry would make the perfect dad. Kind and wise, conscientious and witty, I would hand this man my firstborn in a heartbeat. Also, having Emma Thompson and Hugh Laurie for god parents wouldn't be too shabby...

Hottest dad - Hank Moody (Californation)

Hank Moody's smooth, poetic ways may ruin his daughter for all other men, but they sure are a delight to watch. Never short of a good oneliner, he is the (fictional) dad whose face I would most happily use as a chair. And he isn't without life lessons either; "Back tatts are the watermark of the promiscuous". True that...

As far as dads go, mine is pretty fantastic. He's quite funny (not as funny as he thinks he is, but I guess that runs in the family...), he's generous, very proud, loving, and generally fun to be around. He's instilled in me a profound love for music, a strong sense of independance, and the confidence to go after whatever you want out of life. He's the dad you can have a beer with (read: many, many beers), and the dad my sister and I wouldn't trade for anyone. So in honour of father's day, I'd like to share some of his parenting greatest hits.

When I was in my early teens, I was the typical, sensitive, idealistic bookworm (you know the type; wears a lot of black, not very good at the evil high school politics, writes awful and naive poetry about changing the world) and also not very easy to shop for. When my birthday came around, my dad walked into the local bookshop and told the saleswoman; "My daughter is way too smart for her own good and loves to read. I have no idea what kind of book to get her, help me." And so that's how I got Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, by Douglas Hofstadter for my 13th birthday. It still gives me a headache, but it's nonetheless very flattering to know that your dad mistakenly believes you to be some kind of genius.

A few years after that, I had tickets for a Junkie XL concert in Tilburg (about an hour away) and my friend and I had secretly planned to stay with some students who lived there, so we could stay out all night. Naturally we got busted for lying about where we were planning to stay, but instead of grounding me, he drove us to the concert and came to pick us up at one in the morning, joking and smiling all the way. This of course made me feel horribly guilty about being a lying little shit, and earned him major cool points for life.

The best thing my dad ever did though, and the biggest example of the kind of person he is, was what he did when my cousin was in trouble. I won't go into details, but let's just say he was being mistreated by the people who were supposed to take care of him. When he got the call, my dad just got in his car, got him out of there, and gave him a home in our house. No questions asked. It was the only right thing to do, but I know many, many people wouldn't have.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

There are many rules restaurant employees have to mind when working around food and people:

"Take a shower every once in a while, try to minimise the pointing and laughing at customers, and refrain from hot plate frisbee during rush hour."

Sounds fair enough, right? But I do believe us humble servant folk deserve SOME common courtesy in return by our guests. The following is a detailed list of ten things that make us want to put arsenic in your coffee, and that you should please never again do in a restaurant. Basically it all boils down to: "don't be a twat", but that doesn't make a very good list now does it?

1. Thou shalt not be a pervert

Rule of thumb: "If he/she is young enough to be your child (or worse) don't try to hit on your waiter." First of all because it's gross, and second of all, we have to be nice to you for money. Please don't make that even more creepy than it has to be. Yes, we may come across very friendly or even flirty, but that is what being a good host(ess) is. We make you feel welcome. If you misinterpret those signals as a sexual green light, we will make fun of you to our colleagues and deem you pathetic behind your back (except if you were the hot guy sitting at table 42 on saturday, in which case I totally meant to flirt with you).

2. Thou shalt sit wherever the hell thou are told

Seriously people, it's not that difficult. If a table seats eight and there's only two of you, don't act surprised if you are not seated there. We understand you like the extra elbow space, but we kind of like the six hundred euros we can make by sticking actual people in those empty chairs. Your boss doesn't allow you to throw your computer out the office window at the end of the day does he? No, because THAT would be a waste of money. Think about it, dumbass.

3. Thou shalt not be a stingy bastard

You knew this was coming, but tipping is important! If the food and service are good, or even great, it's nice to tell us so, but compliments do not pay the rent. Hospitality is hard and physically strenuous work, for not a lot of money. So if you can afford to eat at a high end place like ours, we know you have a few extra pennies to show your appreciation. It pains me to say this but women are especially lousy tippers. Not that I believe men to be more altruistic or generous, but their machismo fear of being called a cheapskate moves them to do the right thing.

4. Thou shalt keep thy womb fruit in check

It's nice that you think your offspring is of magnificent beauty and wisdom, but it's pretty safe to assume to rest of us are less impressed. Therefore, it would be helpful if you could teach your kids some goddamn manners. I don't know what my parents would have done if eight year old me had been running around the restaurant screaming, ruining all the table settings, and slamming into fully loaded waiters, but I'm pretty sure that it would have hurt. Call me old fashioned, but I genuinely didn't expect to be scolded by the mother of the little creep I had just prevented from eating glass fragments off the floor. Next time I'll just hand junior a box of matches and a steak knife, and send him on his merry way.

5. Thou shalt realise when the party is over

We've all been there. You've had a few too many and you're not quite ready to go home. At this point it's probably wise to realise that the people who are working there are all itching for you to leave so that they can finally relax themselves, and that is why they've been asking: "can I get you anything else", every three minutes for the last half hour. Go be drunk around people who are in a similar state of intoxication, and who won't remember you so harshly, if at all.

6. Thou shalt not mess with the balancing act

You may think that you're helping, but handing us the smallest thing on the table, thereby ensuring that we can't stack anything else on, thus forcing us to make another run to the kitchen is the exact opposite. There is a very fragile logic between what we can carry and how we stack it, and it is different for everyone, so please don't hand us anything, unless we ask. If we are carrying a serving tray, for the love of Krishna do not take anything from it, or place anything on it when we aren't looking, because it will fall. That doesn't make us clumbsy, it makes you daft, and probably dripping.

7. Thou shalt not treat thy waiters like cattle

Whistling, clapping, snapping your fingers and waving hysterically at restaurant staff should be punishable by death. Or at the very least by flogging. It's incredibly rude, humiliating, dehumanising and it pretty much garantees you crap service for the rest of the night, because the entire staff will loathe you. It is however completely acceptable to walk up to a stranger who displays this behaviour and punch them in the throat. When they stare back at you, baffled and afraid, you can snap your fingers at them (or whistle, clap etc.) and say; "you know why!".

8. Thou shalt not be hysterically pregnant

Since the dawn of time, blushing farm women, malnourished African women, and stupid teenagers (surviving solely on a steady diet of KFC and twinkies) alike have been putting healthy youngens on this earth. It's good that we now know a little more about what not to do during pregnancy, but try not to be a total paranoid bitch about it. We are not out to poison your child to be, and if you are so very afraid of the redness of meat, then just DON'T ORDER THE FUCKING STEAK! It makes our souls hurt to serve grey beef. Oh, and those three drops of alcohol in the sauce will have evaporated in the cooking process, it is not necessairy to ask that question about every single thing on the menu while pointing at your stomache. You have told us you're pregnant five times already, and also, you are huge and bloated.

9. Thou shalt not be hasty

You know why fast food is so cheap? Because it takes no thought, no time to prepare, and it's expected to taste like crap. Good, fresh food actually takes time and care, and if you look around, you'll notice that you're not the only person who we're serving at the moment. We'll serve you in a very timely manner, and if we feel you might be waiting a minute too long, we'll be at your table, apologising profusely and offering you free drinks. If you are so very bored with your company that you have nothing better to do than to stare at your watch all night, might we suggest "rent-a-friend", or a divorce.

10. Thou shalt not assume thy waiter is an idiot

There are plenty of dim bulbs who work in hospitality, like there are in any industry, but there's no need to talk to your waiter like they're mentally handicapped. If you are dining in a good restaurant, or even in a crappy one in a cool city, chances are you are being served by someone who has a sharp mind and a passion for food and wine, who understands there's an art to making sure you have a great evening, who has a college education and probably could do many other things just as well, but who chose this career because it makes them happy, they are fucking great at it, and it's a helluvalot more fun than being stuck in some office all day.

Monday, 11 May 2009

Do you know how sometimes you can't choose between feeling flattered or downright mortified? Well, imagine you are walking past a sunny terrace when a group of men (I presume they were British tourists) suddenly jump up and shout "Glorious cleavage!" at you, followed by them clapping and cheering...

My reaction of course was to turn Ferrari red, and to sprint away akwardly, in heels, on a brick road. I'm just thankful I didn't do a full faceplant right then and there, but I did feel about as sexy as a bucket of lint. But enough about my embarrassing life, I have to run to work now, so here's POTUS Obama being funny at last night's White House Correspondents' Association Dinner.

* Once again for the Dutchies; if you are reading this on my Hyves page, the RSS feed doesn't copy the YouTube clips so you'll have to click through to my blog.

Wednesday, 6 May 2009

South Africa has elected her fourth president since the end of apartheid. His name is Jacob Zuma and he is more crooked than the leaning tower of Pisa. Apparantly things need to once again get worse before they can get better. Let's hope it doesn't take eight years though...

Friday, 1 May 2009

Since starting my new job (yes, yet another new job, shut up) I've generally been too exhausted to do much of anything, but you know you're in trouble when a global pandemic breaks out and you are the absolute last person in the world to notice. To mask my blatant ignorance I was going to write something cute and perky about the Dutch tradition of Queens Day. But, since some raging lunatic decided to drive his car through the celebrations in what looks like an attempt to harm the royal family, killing five people and injuring many more, I guess cute and perky is out. So yeah...

I got nothing. Here's Stephen K Amos live at the Apollo:

* For the Dutchies; if you are reading this on my Hyves page, the RSS feed doesn't copy the YouTube clips so you'll have to click through to my blog.

Thursday, 26 March 2009

If you haven't seen the new South Park episode from last night, "Margaritaville", I suggest you get yourself over to www.southparkstudios.com right quick, because it is friggin' hilarious! In addition to a last supper spoof, with Cartman as the natural Judas, it also has this little gem:

Tuesday, 24 March 2009

Is anybody else feeling mildly overwhelmed in trying to understand what exactly is happening with the current financial crisis?

Well, as always, Matt Taibbi does understand and manages to explain it in a way that doesn't make my brain explode. You can read the article here but be advised; you'll probably feel worse than before you knew what the hell those money people were on about...

Sunday, 22 March 2009

As I walk past my hallway mirror, I notice black smudges all over my face. The familiar markings of an afternoon well spent, reading the Saturday newspaper. As much as I love and have come to depend on the internet, I am still one of those fossils who pay good money to have daily piles of waste paper delivered to their doorstep. Because nothing can beat the feel and smell that is the print experience.

When I was in college I used to meet my friends after class with a stack of newspapers. And we would sit, at a big table in our favourite bar. All day. Reading, drinking coffee, and contemplating the perils of the modern world, until we exchanged our coffees for beers, our informed discussions for inane folly, and would exit the pub just slighty more stupid than before we came. It was there that we heard out about the planes flying into the World Trade Centre, with our suddenly outdated newspapers still in hand.

Eight years, several wars, and one U.S. President later, those people and that bar are still there, but I wonder how much longer my beloved newspapers will be. As Clay Shirky so eloquently describes in his article, we are in the middle of a media revolution, and important as tradional newspapers (and their journalistic efforts) may be, they won't be able to survive the perfect storm of free information.

I would love to offer a solution for these very modern challenges, but let's not kid ourselves. I'm the girl who found her lost keys in the refrigerator this morning. So I'll just enjoy my dirty old paper for as long as I can. If you need me I'll be at my table. Smudged and content...

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

The following list has nothing to do with my current state of mind because I'm actually feeling quite happy at the moment, but I've had this list in my YouTube favourites for a while now, and can't be asked to come up with anything new tonight. So without further ado, here are ten painfully beautiful songs that will make you want to curl up into a little ball and cry your tiny black heart out. Or eat a buttload of ice cream. Or both!

10. First up is "Letting the cables sleep" by Bush. I couldn't post the original video but this "Sin City" clip featuring the delicious Clive Owen should more than make up for that.

9. The next song is written from the perspective of a rapist and killer, but I love it nonetheless (or maybe it's what makes it great, I don't know). But here's Therapy with "Diane".

8. The next song was a big part of the musical salvation that elevated the movie "Cruel Intentions" from standard Hollywood remake disaster (Les Liaisons Dangereuses) to a halfway decent production. This clip is taken from the movie and has pretty people making the sexy. Here are Counting Crows with "Colorblind".

7. This lady is beyond weird, but I don't give a flying fiddle because this songs rocks! With a clip from "the Crow" here's Björk and "Play Dead".

6. I loved this song when I was a scrawny and awkward teenage snot, and I still do. One could argue that not much has changed except for the scrawny and teenage parts, but I like to think it's because good music stands the test of time. Here are the Smashing Pumpkins with "Disarm".

5. We're getting into serious tearjerking territory now, with the legendary Jeff Buckley. The tortured poet who tragically died before his time (just like his father) could easily be on this list five times without playing favourites. Here's "Lover you should've come over" live from Chicago in '95.

4. This song always humbles me. Its pure and modest message of hope has a way of making me appreciate all I have. Here's the very wise Tracey Chapman with "Fast Car".

3. I still can't watch this next clip without balling like a big Jessie. Here is the most powerful finale of a drama series I've ever seen, from "Six feet Under", with the fantastic soundtrack by Sia, "Breathe Me".

2. For all the dubious characteristics Prince possesses, there is no doubt he is one of the most talented songwriters alive today. Sung by the best looking bald lady ever, Sinead 'O Connor, this is "Nothing compares 2U".

1. I can't really put into words how much this song moves me, except that I can feel myself being physically stirred by it (hmm, I guess I can put it into words). I was never a big fan of the original by Nine Inch Nails (although Trent Reznor's lyrics are fantastic), but this version of "Hurt" by a bodily weakened but ever lion hearted Johnny Cash embodies everything that is great about music.

Monday, 2 March 2009

I don't mean to alarm you, but, there is hair growing on my soup. Lush, thick, scary hair. Just a week ago it was green pea soup, and now it is hair soup, and possibly evil. I want to clean the pan, I really do, but I fear the mould might try to murder me in my sleep. If it does, avenge me. And if someone could say some really nice things about me at my funeral that would be great. Make me look good (lie!).

I guess I haven't been blogging much lately, but it's for a good cause. Over the last couple of weeks, my independant writing career has really taken off, and my biggest contract is a semi-permanent gig with a copy writing agency, run by a really cool and smart lady who I've tricked into becoming my mentor of sorts. So career wise things are definitely looking up.

As for my health; after surviving a killer flu (which felt like the plague) I am once again feeling fat and happy, and thanking the non existent gods that the hockey season has started again. I might have caught a ball with my face (what else is new), resulting in two weeks of looking like Chris Brown's girlfriend, but people have stopped staring at me on the subway so my black eye must have sufficiently faded. It did make for an excellent costume at Carnaval which I attended as a boxer, and where I had a blast!

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

This morning I woke up and decided to preemptively brighten a friend's dreary tuesday at work, because she's been in a bit of a bad break up funk lately. I emailed her ten reasons why life is too beautiful to be sad about mentally unstable manfolk, but if you are a straight male, feel free to change certain (body) parts to match your heart's desire.

1. Friends. The natural number one on the list and a beautiful phenomenon. You have a lot of them, and yours just happen to be very sweet, and funny, and great company. If a void is left in your life, just fill it with friends and you can be sure that only good things will come of it.

2. Being young and hot. This one is tricky, because the liquid evil known as your hormones might try to fill your head with the lying self image of a fat old troll. Don't believe it! You are a drop dead gorgeous spring chicken and also sex on a stick. Anyone claiming otherwise is a jealous, lying snot!

3. The weekend. Ah, the real reason us civilians endure our hellish working week is that tingly feeling we get when friday afternoon comes around. The giddyness, the bad jokes and the anticipation of things to come. Sleeping 'till noon, parties and good times with great people you've chosen yourself.

4. Food. Wheter it's a bowl of Ben & Jerry's with a bad movie, a three course meal with a hot date, or the divine eggs and bacon on a hungover morning, food rules! How it tastes, how it looks, how it smells. Yum! And since we are supposed adults, we can eat whatever we want, whenever we want!

5. Penises. It doesn't matter if you collect them, or have enjoyed only a small selection of favourites under your belt, they make your life better. These ultimate joysticks, which are, hopefully, attached to a great guy, are designed by nature to give women pleasure. Who are you to deny nature?

6. Sports. Doesn't it feel great to push yourself around on the field (the only place left where you can truly play like a child) or in the gym and then to get in a hot shower and feel that nice, satisfied, glowing in your muscles? Knowing that all the uglyness that naturally lives in our bodies (aggression, frustration, back fat) has been released in a healthy way.

7. Bitching, moaning and gossiping. Sometimes it feels so good to just let yourself go for a moment and snarl away like you're a surly, constipated geriatric and everythings sucks. Also great; talking smack about people who act even worse than you do. No matter how bad you get, you can rest in the knowledge that there is always a bigger moron out there (usually me).

8. Beauty. This one might seem a bit soft, but beauty is all around us. In music, books and films, but also in the little things. In the crisp winter air, in riding your bike down the street while the sun is reflected in the canals (okay maybe that one just works for me, but I'm sure you catch my drift). It's in the eyes of the people who care about you. In hope, in strength, in love, in you.

9. Humour. It's the life raft on which sanity floats, in a sea of injustice, pain and uglyness. No matter how bad things get, there's bound to be a brilliant punchline in there somewhere. Dare to laugh yourself and your fate in the face, and you will be a stronger, happier and funnier person for it.

10. Love. You got to taste what it feels like to truly be in love and it was taken away from you. This love may be over, but your love life is not. I am convinced there is someone (actually there might be several) out there with everything to give, who only needs to find someone like you to love. Until you meet, 1 through 9 are still very much worth the fuss.

It isn't the list I would have written for myself, but it's still a pretty good list of reasons not to be unhappy, and that was what I was going for. It's just too bad that the stuff that makes you want to hurl yourself off a cliff is usually funnier...

You know how people tell you that "what you don't know could fill a book". Ha! Talk about euphemisms... There's a frightening quantity of areas where my expertise is non existant, but thankfully I never let that prevent me from having an opinion on the subject. Take submarines for instance. I honestly haven't the foggiest (besides what you can learn from watching "Under Siege"). But it would seem to me that if you're going to be roaming the oceans in a metal tube containing nuclear warheads, that it might make sense to tell your friends about it. You know, so you don't accidentally slam into them and create a nuclear disaster...

How fucking stupid is that? A nuclear power, bound by friendly political alliances, international agreements and supposed shared national values can't be bothered to let it's atomic teammates know when it is sending WMD's on a pleasure cruise through international waters (even though this is common practice amongst NATO allies), because they are France and the rules don't apply to them. I think that stinks! It stinks like their delicious smelly smelly cheeses (yeah I went there). The French need to realise that they are no longer the superpower of yore, and have to play nice with the other kids in the European sandbox (as do the British for that matter).

The diplomatic world stage may have better days ahead with Obama kissing the boo-boos of past scoffings, but especially in these times of economic squalor, everbody is looking out for number one. No European country on it's own will be able to change much for the better, because the gravitas of military and economic power still lies elsewhere. That is why I truly believe that the European Union has the future of Europe. Politically, economically and even militarily. But for European integration to really work, a change of mentally is needed. If the bigger countries keep viewing the Union itself as a competing power and allow old world chauvinism to have a place in foreign policy, then the Union won't flourish. And neither will they.

Thursday, 5 February 2009

I feel like rubbish on toast, I smell like mould (at least I think I do, the vast amounts of mucus that keep erupting from my face prevent my nose from performing it's usual duties), and to top it all off, I look like death. I've diagnosed myself with "Screaming Bubonic Typhoid Ebolaflu" and am awaiting certain death. Goodbye cruel world!

...

Okay, so I may be exaggerating slightly, but this is the first time in days that I actually feel well enough to complain. Welcome to my pity party people, bring your own whine.

I promise to snap out of this funk post haste, as soon as my body returns to work. In the meantime here's the lovely Russel Howard with his own endearing and hilarious brand of stand up comedy.